Iltherian's Sword - Prologue
Curse them, it cannot be.
A dark figure lay on the floor of an even darker room. It rolled and gibbered, pounded on and bit at the floor. It didn't care what it looked like, so sunk in despair and fury was it. It indulged in, reveled in its tantrum not caring if anything or anyone might stumble upon it. Indeed, it would have destroyed them to appease the violent emotions crashing through it at the moment.
For long moments it ranted, but eventually its movements eased and eventually stopped. It lay, its breathing harsh, its muscles rigid, hands clawlike gripping at the floor. After a few more minutes, the harsh breath subsiding and eventually it pushed itself wearily from the floor.
A low, catlike growl escaped from it and its eyes glimmered with a feverish light even in the shadows, Curse them, send them to the dark depths.
This will not be the end. I will not allow it to end this way. I will make them pay; will make the entire world pay for this infernal outrage.
The figure rose from the ground, walking across the room, reaching out, fingers closing over the hilt of a sword. There was a flash, like a spark, and it jerked back, hissing angrily staring intently at the scorched, smoking flesh of its fingers.
But the one who will suffer the most...suffer the last, is that fiend Iltherian. I will make him watch as I destroy everything, everyone he loves. I will make him watch as they suffer and die and laugh when he realizes there is nothing he can do to help...And when he finally realizes that, that is when he will die...
They will all pay...